Aw, ya'll still giving me the silent treatment?

Oh come on! Don't tell me you're not into the perverted, sweat-pit-endowed (Thanks my dear Salad,) nutter Keith?

What? You prefer the sexier (yet-definitely-a-product-of-the-devils-hanky-panky) fella, Nick?

WELL. Each to her own then! … Lol!

Although … I suppose it really wasn't very nice of me … so I'll make it up to you in this chapter.

See, re-reading my most recent stuff, I myself have noticed the complete lack of fluff and I've concluded that you're all going into withdrawal.

Ah withdrawal . . . I know it well. My life has SUCKED since my main financial backers (Mum and dad) discovered the recommended TAB intake is, like, 5 cans a day.

Until that tragic day, I could put away 5 before breakfast!!!

Anyway.

My point WAS, that after the nastiness of the last chapter I figured I owed it to those of you still reading … a little between the sheets fluff to reinstate your faith in me.

No, I really mean between the sheets

X-X-X

"Sexytime!"

—Very nice!

X-X-X

It was no more than an hour later than I followed Nick downstairs and found myself confronted with a sight I would have never, in a million years, put money on.

Dad and Paul; together in the one room, the atmosphere actually being completely devoid of all tension and "wanna-fight-marmite?" airs.

Good on you fellas!! Took you long enough.

Stupid adults.

"I'm ready to go." I said, walking into the room, with barely more than nod as an acknowledgement.

"Melinda . . ." Dad said, walking over and placing a hand on my shoulder. "Melinda, honey . . ."

"What?" I said, instantly wary. "WHAT?"

That's when it happened. That is when, completely out of the blue, Nick (Having been not far behind me,) suddenly announced all authoritivly—which is perhaps what pissed me off most of all, as it seemed like he'd actually put some thought into it: "I think Melinda should stay here."

Just like that.

"I think Melinda should stay here."

Slaters eyebrows rose perceptibly and dad's hand tightened on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said, taken aback, "but WHAT?"

Nick looked impressively around the room, making eye contact with each person—he's going to make an impressive little magistrate, this one.

Or perhaps a politician.

Or a real estate developer.

Whatever.

I just don't think he's going to go into hostage negotiation, you know?

And then he started to explain to the entire room, DELIBERATELY not looking at me, THE FINK, "this . . . Keith seems to have developed a worrying obsession with Melinda, mentally AND physically—" he said this significantly, looking dad directly in the eyes and I couldn't suppress a gasp.

How did he know??

I hadn't told him anything about that . . .

"—And I think, right now, here is the safest place for her to be."

"Oh, right." Slater said. "Ok. I was going to say, Jesus Christ, steady on there boy . . . But of course, if it's for her safety," he smirked, an expression I knew so well having seen it so often mirrored in his son, "then . . . I have to agree."

HEY, HEY WHOA WHOA, HEY!!!

Mum looked at Slater all weirdly and Nick, intercepting this, said, "Suze, Jesse, please. This will leave you free to deal with Keith without worrying if Melinda's safe. And you've seen what Keith did to. . . "he broke off to shoot a glance at me, I met his gaze with hostility, pretending I didn't know the reason he'd stopped. " . . . Alanna, and Daniel, and Stacy and even YOU Suze. . . so far he hasn't gone for Melinda directly . . . please, I don't want her to be in danger of ending up . . ." he stopped and shook his head. "just . . . Please."

Well . . . That was one hell of home run he just hit.

Seriously, he KNOWS how to play people, definitely.

"She was going to go and stay at the Mission." Dad said, with the no nonsense expression on his face, that I knew so well. I made a small squawk of indignation at his words, which he ignored, except for a squeezing my shoulder. "What makes you think that she'd be safer here?"

"Get real." Nick rolled his eyes. "This place is, like, a yugi-oh club tree house. Freak central."

I would have laughed . . . if the other half of the simile hadn't been about HIDING ME AWAY FROM A CRAZY GHOST.

Other than that . . . What did Nick know about yugi-oh clubs??

. . . OH!!!!!!

Oh ho ho!!!!

I will remember this . . .

"Believe me." Nick said, bitterness slightly apparent in his tone. "She'll never be alone." He looked over and addressed me for the first time in all of this. "Sorry."

Ok . . . The mission is starting to look awful good . . .

But then I got some bad mental images of Sister Ernestine in a dressing-gown which made me shudder violently and I was back at my original stance.

To be honest? I'd rather live in a freezer than see Sister Ernestine . . . normal.

'I'm not sure . . ." Mum said, hesitancy apparent in her voice. "Can you," she spoke now directly to Slater, "promise me that she'll be safe here?"

"Suzie!" (mum winced) Slater was pretending to look affronted, and from where he sat on the black plush couch with Chenaol, her models long legs slung casually over his . . . he didn't manage it.

At all.

"Suzie, come now darling, what do you think?'

"I'm on the fence." She said, by way of answer.

"Jesus." Slater grinned. "I wish."

. . . I don't get it. Dad did, if the sudden massacre of my shoulder beneath his hand was anything to go by.

Either that was too kinky for my youthful understanding . . .

EW.

OR it was another of their many references to their shared past.

God I hope it's that one. PLEASE GOD, I don't ask for much . . .

"Whatever." I threw in, possibly not very helpfully. "Mum, you know this is insane."

"Still." Nick spoke, ignoring what I'd just said. "I think—"

"Um." Chenaol spoke for the first time, (I think dad's GAME FACE had freaked her out,) and it sounded to me like she was reprimanding someone. WHO quickly became apparent, "Excuse me. Nick." He turned to her with a patiently condescending look on his face. "Shut up and listen to what your girlfriend has to say, hm?"

He glared.

"Oh," I tried, "We're not exactly – I'm not – that's such a . . . bad word . . ."

"I am listening to my girlfriend—"

I shut up.

"—I just believe that in this instance what she has to say is inconsequential."

WOT BITCH????

"EXCUSE me?" I said, getting my Gangsta on.

This pimp is fucking REPRESSING me!

Nick then caught sight of my face. "Oh, Melinda," he shook his head at me, "don't pretend you care. Look, I know you. All you want is to get rid of Keith and you don't care if you get hurt. We, us in this room, care if you get hurt and this is why you're staying."

. . . Well that does pretty much sum it up . . .

"Never the less." Slater was still grinning, obviously he was finding this entire experience extremely entertaining. Fucking BULLY FOR HIM. "Melinda, what do you want?"

Ahhh . . . He's boxing me in . . . he wants to make me say it . . .

Well. He did ask. And dad is always preaching about the value of honesty.

"I want to go home. I'm going home." I said clearly, speaking like Nick had, making eye contact with every single person in the room in an attempt to make them understand what I was saying. I probably was not as effective as him, but fuck me for trying. "When I get home, I'm going to google exorcisms. Then I'm going to preform one."

. . . and hope it works.

That was the unspoken—but much acknowledged—finish to my sentence.

"No." Said dad firmly.

"WHAT??? YOU CAN'T STILL BELIEVE THAT KEITH DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE EXORCISED—"

"No." repeated dad, calmly. "I no longer believe that . . . but I do still believe that you should not be the one attempting to administer such just retribution. It's a father's prerogative to do whatever he can to make sure his child is safe. You're my daughter, Melinda, and I love you."

"Yes daddy," I smiled sweetly, "I believe I have heard something like that before. But—"

"Melinda, it's just for a little while." He spoke persuasively, attempting to show me the logic in this great conspiracy. "Just enough time for us to sort this out. Two days, at the most." Then he added softly, "You don't really want to go back to the house right now, do you? And see . . .?"

He had me.

And he KNEW it.

"I said I'd STAY." I snapped perhaps a little too viciously.

"No, you didn't, actually," dad said mildly, "but you will?"

"I guess." I muttered ungraciously.

"Wow!!" said Slater, clapping. "You're a number one dad!" I rolled my eyes and Chenaol elbowed him. "Sorry . . ." he apologised, then, recovering from his initial mirth, he stood up and said; "I have a proposal to put to you, Suze, Jesse, about the exorcism of our friend Keith. Well, it's not an exorcism as such . . . And I don't know for sure if it will work. Pop's was never exactly forthcoming with the details . . ."

"Probably because you TRIED TO KILL HIM." Mum said. "That would be quite difficult to forgive, don't you think?"

Dad looked appalled.

"Bygones." Was Slaters defence. "We were kids, Suzie." Then he said seriously. "Suze, Jesse. I don't want Melinda hurt any more than you do. Believe me, she will be safe here."

It was impossible to doubt his sincerity, it rang true in every word.

Not that I was happy about it.

"What am I?" I said peevishly. "A vase?" I was ignored. But I didn't mind all that much. This new little conspiracy of theirs just guaranteed mum and dad's peace of mind, not my custody.

Keith was going to get taken out, all right. But by me.

And it was going to be in the most painful, traumatising way possible. I owed him that much.

And so it was agreed. I would stay at the Slaters until the 'grownups' worked out their little plan. Or, at least, that was the impression I would give.

Mum and dad left me then, with the usual; "Behave."

Then Chenaol got up and said, "Come on Melinda. I'm SO not old enough to be a grandma, so I'll show you to your room."

I heaved a sigh and followed her out of the room, but I still heard Nick's indignant, "You're not even related to me!"

X-X-X

Something on my jaw … incessant, demanding.

I struggled through the peaceful emptiness that was sleep and attempted to identify it.

Warm … Nice …

Person … Mouth …

I flew into PANIC mode and twisted in a tangle of sheets to try and see who was lying on me, kissing my neck and face.

I was lying on my stomach and all I could see was pitch black, except for the window that took up the whole wall to my right.

All I could think was:

"… You wont be dead when I have my turn …"

My heart jolted into a frantic pounding rhythm as I tried to push myself up onto my elbows, but I was held down by someone's weight.

Suddenly my mind cleared and I was able to discern from the feel of the torso pinning me down, who it was.

Thank God.

My heart slowly settled to a more normal rate. This was the only guy I've ever wanted on top of me …

All the tension flew out of my body and I relaxed and tilted my head back, baring to him more skin, which accidentally told him two things: one, I was indeed awake (Not just suffering from night terrors) and Two: . . . I was really enjoying this.

"Hello." Came Nick's muffled voice somewhere just shy of the hollow of my neck.

" . . . Hi . . ." I said slowly. Nick smiled into my neck (I felt it, I FELT it,) and then moved to kiss my mouth, and went about this with such a single-minded intensity that I was left reeling.

SOMEONE'S JUST LUCKY I CLEAN MY TEETH AT BEDTIME, OK??

I could still taste the toothpaste. Else what? I mean, Eww.

I kissed him back, of course I did. It wasn't something I had to pretend I didn't like, anymore. He playfully sucked on my bottom lip and I couldn't remember ever being so happy.

But still, I had to pull back. "Do you mind telling me what you're doing here?"

"What?" Nick Slater said, all innocently. "I'm not allowed to wake my girlfriend like this?"

Girlfriend?

GIRLFRIEND?!?

Steady on there, cowboy! And yet my stomach squeezed and I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. He'd allowed this word to describe my relation to him once before . . . but this time he said it, straight up. I tired to hide my reaction to that one, everyday word but, seeing as my face was right next to his, he felt me smile. And probably knew why.

"You know you like it." I had to admit that this was true as I twisted my spine in order to continue to suck face with him, (and I will admit, our positions were not the best, considering he is much heavier than me and STILL lying over my back, crushing me into the mattress).

I just enjoyed my time with him as we continued to kiss, not viciously like our entire paintball experience (you fucking rapist, Nick,) but more like the first time we kissed.

. . . When he was trying to get me just absolutely mind numbingly hot for him . . . trying, and succeeding. Much like now. Only now I didn't have to pretend my stomach wasn't clenched, that I didn't feel like I was on fire everywhere his body was in contact with mine . . .

Nick took his mouth away from mine as he slipped his hand down under the sheets and I couldn't help but muffle a gasp into my pillow as I felt his warm hands abruptly invite themselves up under my Singlet and settle, grasping my hips.

Umm . . .

This is . . .

. . . Um . . .

Then he started to slowly slide his hands upwards, up, up to my waist, up—

It was then that I may have . . . freaked out a little . . . I flipped over onto my back and stared up at Nick's face, blurred by darkness, but still obviously hot, whereas I probably looked for all the world like just another wide eyed virgin.

Oh wait.

I am.

Ha! This is so funny . . .

I don't think.

As I was now on my front, Nick's hands were now pressing into my back, and I was getting SO turned on by all this—just as I was thinking this, Nick started to run his blunt nails up and down my spine, and I shivered.

"Enjoying yourself Melinda?"

"Shut up." I choked out. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate on coming up with a better sentence but his next move in this little game just made my eyes fly right back open.

He'd removed a hand from tickling my spine and replaced it . . . back under my Singlet on my upper stomach . . . then as his hand resumed its journey upwards I noticed Nick's eye's firmly locked on my own, gauging the reactions I was so easily provoked into supplying.

I swallowed nervously. The feel of him watching me, and his warm hands sliding over my damp skin . . . I couldn't think clearly.

Well, no, that's a lie.

I could think clearly.

But every thought I was coming up with would have made grandma disown me.

Then, as his hand just cupped the underside of my breast and gently squeezed—

All I could do was what any girl (and some guys,) in my position would have done.

I pushed myself up on my knee's (bringing Nick up with me) and resumed kissing the hot guy.

His hands settled back on my waist as we continued kissing . . . kissing, biting, sucking, licking . . .

But they didn't stay there.

Is this a teenage boy thing, or an every man thing?

Never happy unless their hands are full.

NICK'S hand, wandered down my back, then teasingly pinched my ass—I sort of squeaked into his mouth and couldn't restrain myself from throwing my arms around his neck and arching my back, pressing my front against his warm (and very naked) chest.

THIS was something Nick was only too happy to take advantage of, he pulled me even tighter into him, I felt his arm around me, pressing into the bare skin of my back as he held me tightly against him. My Singlet had, by now, been pushed—by him—right up to underneath my boobs . . . where my bra would start . . . if I were wearing one.

This was all, I knew, very, VERY bad . . .

And yet so, SO good . . .

Now, if I'da been thinking (CLEARLY. Thinking CLEARLY. Because I think we've established that I WAS thinking . . . just not about anything that wouldn't land me in confession.) EVERYTHING I'd done tonight . . . every reaction . . . Well. I hadn't really been sending out much of a "No means NO!" message.

In fact, it was probably something more recognisable to blue movie fans everywhere . . .

The "just throw me down and ride me, right here, right now . . ." sorta thing—

Oh, never MIND.

It wasn't what I was TRYING to DO, OK??

Oh, maybe it was! Maybe my subconscious—

You know what? SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! I can't HELP it if everything I do is SEXY!!

Yeah … that is SO it …

Whatever. I can't be held accountable for ANYTHING I say, do, or think right now, ok? OK??

OK.

I pulled my mouth away from his to look at him for a second . . . my eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, and I took in, with perfect clarity, his strong jaw, his content smirk at getting me to respond like that and his ice cold eyes looking, right now, unbearably warm . . .

THEN he removed my top.

I let out a little scream and threw myself at him so he couldn't see anything . . . But, in retrospect, this ALSO not so clever, as he has no shirt, I had no shirt . . .

He could feel them. He could DEFINITELY felt them . . .

WHAT A SITUATION. Seriously. How DO I do it? One minute I had a top . . . next minute I didn't . . . Fucking MANWHORE. DAMN good at this—

"Shh." Nick demanded, pushing me back down onto the bed, covering my mouth with a hand, more, I suspected because he enjoyed it, rather than a fear of anyone hearing. I pulled the sheets up to cover myself, all the while cursing Nick and telling myself I wasn't loving this. This room was isolated down the opposite end of the Slater property, I could scream and it would be doubtful they'd hear me.

Which I think that was exactly what Nick had in mind.

He roughly grabbed my leg just above my knee in a tight grasp, and ran his hand tightly upward, I gasped at the tightness, at the feeling of his warm hand sliding up my comparatively cold flesh, and I moaned, the sound muffled into his other hand.

Oh God, oh shit, oh shitty-McShit-shit! Not good! Well, no, ok, very GOOD, but BAD—

Shall I EXPLAIN?

Half naked guy—Just to feed any curiosity, he wore just these stripy pyjama shorts/boxer/underwear things. Not what I would have expected, and yet EXACTLY what I would have expected all at the same time.

The exciting part was the warm, solid torso that I could distinctly feel through the sheet I had tugged up to cover me . . .

But the sheet was gradually slipping off me. I believe Nick was responsible for this.

And you know what?

I was oblivious.

No, wait, that's not true. I was fully conscious of this . . . I just didn't care.

Nick smirked above me; he was enjoying this in more ways than the obvious.

I think he was particularly loving my reactions.

As for me?

I was having trouble identifying me thoughts and emotions . . . usually I was very good at this. Apparently having a hot guy on top of me just blows this little attribute to shit.

Nick was still covering my mouth, the fricking power tripped, perverted, egotistical—

Then as his hand slid under the hem of my pink flannel shorts, I lost my train of thought, as he started to gently massage the sensitive skin of my topmost inner thigh.

Something about . . . something . . .?

. . . Down, up, down, up HIGHER than before . . . his bare torso rubbing (inadvertently, I'm SO SURE) against my own naked chest . . .

My entire body was on fire, my stomach was feeling . . . weird. Tight, sort of, but it was very centralized . . .

And I'm not stupid.

I knew EXACTLY—

Oh, GOD. . .

"Oh my gosh." I managed, my breathing coming in gasps and voice muffled beneath my D.I.Y gag. Thankfully he slid his hand off my mouth and rested it on top of my heaving chest. "You didn't even last a WEEK, NO self control—"

"And did you hear me say . . ." his voice was rumbly and sexier than ever as his smile grew and he gently pinched the skin at the top of my thigh (my eye's bugged,) " . . . that I wanted sex?"

Oh, Father Dom does NOT know what he's missing . . .

. . . Not with Nick! NO!! NOT WITH NICK!!! I just meant the whole chastity thing in general!!!

Oh, this thinking thing is doing my head in.

Doing . . . extremely relevant word.

GOSH, I am LOOSING my MIND.

"Oh yeah?" my voice sounded panicked, I KNEW he could hear that. But his hand was between my legs for keerist's sake! BETWEEN my LEGS. "Well THIS would indicate otherwise!"

"Just enjoy it." he leant forward so his face was just inches from mine and looked BANG—oh, BAD word—into my eyes as he spoke. I wiggled, (this had the opposite calming me down, as the friction just worked me up even more,) trying to look anywhere but his blue eyes, ". . . I am."

Ok, Here's another thought. (God, I'm getting desperate, trying to distract myself with ANYTHING else,) What kind of teenage boy likes so much taunting his girlfriend—GREAT word—with her sexual inexperience that he actually has enough self control to do exactly that, and JUST that?

Freak. Shouldn't he be somewhere with a dirty magazine, like every other teenage boy?

GOD. UNFAIR.

So back to my earlier sequence of thought: Perverted, egotistical—

This was when he slid his hand (the one playing between my LEGS) around, so his fingers were curved around the inside of my thigh but his palm was pressing up into my butt . . .

I sucked in a lungful of air. Why not . . .

Why not . . . NOW? "Well," I said slowly, "then why don't you just—?"

"Because." He cut me off. How could he do this? How could he be so calm when HIS FINGERS WERE ONCE MORE—OH MY GOD. OHMYFUCKINGGOD!! "I don't want you to hate me."

"HISTORY LESSON," I snapped, I was loosing it, so, SO bad. I wanted . . .

I wanted . . .

"I've hated you before." I reminded, "You didn't really mind!"

"Girls." Nick said with a verbal eye roll as he proceeded to dip his head and kiss the spot under my ear. His: "Always with the talking. Can't just shut up and enjoy it." Was muffled into my neck.

I was quiet for a moment. Then, as Nick began to clutch me to him and move his mouth further and further down my neck, I was shoved right off the cliff of sanity and my mind was made up.

"Good point." I muttered. Calling to me whatever courage I had, I lifted his head up from my chest and started kissing him.

Because you know what?

WHO CARES?

Who EVEN cares?

I felt him smile, as I got more and more enthusiastic. My hands were running over his shoulder, chest, around to his back . . . His mouth was drifting further ad further south of my collarbone . . . I slid my hands over down his back until I came into contact with the rough material of the waistband of his shorts. I hesitated for a split second, undecided.

Then I made up my mind. I began to slowly roll the elastic down, and that was when Nick took back his ever busy hands and with one last little peck, rolled himself off me, settled his head on a pillow and CLOSED HIS EYES, looking for anything like a man about to drift off to sleep.

"WHAT!!????" I exclaimed, jerking upright, (I scrambled for the sheet and DRAGGED THAT UP WITH ME, I mean, I was hardly feeling very accommodating right now, was I?) feeling more than slightly frustrated and confused.

"Shh, Melinda." he gave a ghost of a smile, his eyes still closed. "You'll wake the entire house."

My breathing was still uneven and my words came between gasps. "You—You just come in here and—and then you—and then you were—and then you just—!"

He opened an eye. "Problems, Melinda?"

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I'VE GOT PROBLEMS—"

""A little sexual frustration never hurt anyone," you know." He quoted smugly.

"Bastard." I whispered.

"Love you too, darling."

"Hey hey, no casual use of—"

"Again. Shut up Melinda."

I flipped over on my side, giving him a lovely view of my back and proceeded to sulk, trying futilely to calm my over excited body.

I continued like this, unable to sleep, for a good ten/fifteen minutes before I heard him start to laugh.

"Aw, I'm sorry kitten . . ."

I would have liked to remind him, yet again, about the negative repercussions of calling me kitten, but that is not how the silent treatment works, unfortunately.

"Oh, come on . . ." he coaxed, his arm winding around my waist and tugging me back against him.

I ripped myself out of his grasp, tearing all the sheets off him to use as a makeshift top, (had NO idea where my Singlet was) and climbed out of the bed. The idea was to DITCH him completely and go and sleep in another room—Fuck knows where. My planning wasn't that advanced. Maybe his room? God knows HE WASN'T USING IT!

But I never got that far, owing to the fact that a certain BEDROOM IMPOSTOR grabbed the back of my shorts and yanked me backwards so I fell back onto the bed.

"You officially SMELL." I said, as haughtily as I was able, (taking into account the fact that I was looking upside down into his face) and clinging onto my sheets like they were my last lifeline.

Which, you know. Wasn't too far off.

"Don't even try it. You loved it."

Very true. I think my TOPLESSNESS and the vivid memories I have of his HANDS UP MY SHORTS were testimony to this.

I made an estimation of a harrumph noise and got back into bed. Even if HE was nocturnal, I, like most teen-age girls, was semi-narcoleptic, especially in the morning.

I need my sleep, or I look like some sort of retarded vampire with shag hair.

Ah, shag.

Ironic.

At least I found my top. I spotted it under Nick and pulled it out from under him, snottily shoving a pillow in his face so I could put it back on.

That being done I regained some composure. Nick grabbed the corner of the sheets and flicked them up so he could climb in beside me. "Do you mind?"

"Your hand was just up my shorts." I said flatly. "I don't think this is going to bother me."

"You sure?" he slid in beside me and pulled me tight up against him.

I squeaked out a "yes." As his body heat AGAIN, shocked me. FUCKING WARM PEOPLE. They scare me. Getting over it, I curled up against him and closed my eyes.

This, it wasn't too hard to admit I liked. Spooning. Love it.

And that was how I—and I assume him also—fell asleep.

X-X-X

I was roused unpleasantly in the morning with bright light, shinning straight onto my face. I lifted my face off Nick's chest to see Chenaol.

In the room. Opening the curtains.

. . . I am so dead.

Remember that thing I said last night (well, early this morning, really,) about the convenient distance away from the hubbub of the house promising privacy/discretion?

INCORRECT. Didn't work so well if we were FOUND.

RE-fresh: I was SO dead.

"Umm." I said with a wince, shutting my eyes and detangling myself from Nick. "If you give me a couple of minutes, I'll be able to come up with a decent explanation."

Oh god, dad was going to kill me. I could see it now: "Anything you'd like to say for yourself?" " … Nick tells me I'm incapable of sharing a duvet?"

God NO!!!!!

SURPRISING THE CRAP outta me, Chenaol shrugged. "I didn't see anything. "

Then she left.

I was floored.

HONESTLY.

Think of a floor. Think of me. Think of me, ON the floor.

If that were MY mother, or god FORBID, my father—All right, Chenaol's a step, but still—I think it's safe to assume I would be trying to explain myself out of quarantine right now.

I rolled over to see what Nick thought of all this . . .

AND HE WAS STILL ASLEEP.

No jest.

FINK!!!! FINKY—McFINK—FINK!!!

I jabbed the warm tanned shoulder sticking out of the startlingly white sheet—Well, stabbed, really—and said, "Excuse me. Wakeup. Did you know your step-mother is totally PRO Oktoberfest??????"

No signs of a response.

"I mean," I continued, punctuating my sentences with additional jabs, "What is up with THAT?" In fact, what is up with your whole freaking family? I think I've brought this up before. Back to what I was saying . . .What was I saying? Oh. Yeah. Chenaol JUST came in here—" It was about here that he woke up, "—Totally saw you in here, did NOT wait for me to explain . . . Dunno what I would have said, actually. Probably something about your room being dull and lava lamp-less . . . Back to what I was saying. What was I saying? Oh. Yeah. Summary: Chenaol fully thinks you just NAILED her husband's ex-girlfriend's daughter."

He screwed up his face and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

If he said, 'Did I? Oh um . . . you were great, babe.' I was going to hit him. I swear was going to hit him and run.

How could I fall for this?????

God, I am so STUPID sometimes!!! Why couldn't I remember that Nick was just a stupid MANWHORE.

A Manwhore who exploits his MANWHORISTIC—New Word, tough SHIT—Powers over STUPID virgins (That's me. The Stupid Virgin.) Who are STUPID enough to think that they might actually be good enough—

Nick interrupted my depressing/horrifying/embarrassing musings with a groaned: "Neurotic." He pulled himself into a sitting position and dragged his hand over his eyes again. "My girlfriend is NEUROTIC."

I silently heaved a giant sigh of relief. He's right. I AM neurotic. A PARANOID neurotic.

But, back to Chenaol. "Nick." I said. "Please focus."

"What?"

"Chenaol just totally disregarded us in here. Together . . .In here . . TOGETHER."

"So? Calm down, the responsible parent act was all for your Dad's sake."

Huh!

Had me fooled. Bloody Models. I never know if they're models or actresses. Well, no, actually, That's a lie. For most of them, I know when I see them 'act'. Cindy Crawford, This is YOU. Honey, you're gorgeous, but NO. Just . . . NO.

"Right." I said, snuggling back down into the bed. "That's it then. I'm going back to sleep."

"But, it's like, Eight!!!"

"Your point?" I said with closed eyes. This was MY holiday, and I was going to fucking ENJOY it, thanks!!

"Nothing. Nevermind." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Go back to sleep."

I felt the bed shift and his weight suddenly leave it; I flung an arm out to stop him and said, "Where do you think your going?"

"My clothes don't live here Melinda." Was the reply I got, and in a very humouring tone, fit for someone only half awake, such as myself. "And your orange cardigan just doesn't really do it for me."

THANK GOD.

"No, What I meant was, come back. It's cold." I got up on my knees and grabbed the material of his shorts to tug him back towards the bed. This put a very smug expression on his face that I was coming to realise was one of the things I lo—

LIKED—best about him.

LIKED.

LIKED.

At any rate. I got my way. He came back and I practically threw myself onto him—for warmth, you understand.

For WARMTH.

I felt his body contract as he laughed at me, and then go back to sleep I did!!!!!

X-X-X

Later that afternoon was when I hit 'em with the demands.

"I want to go and see Mrs Grey."

"WHAT? Are you crazy—WHAT?"

I climbed down off Nick's bureau—again. The minute I got in to his room, I succumbed to a new odd habit, and immediately sat myself on the bureau. Much to his disgust, I knew where he'd much prefer me to sit. Or lie.

"Please?" I wheedled, trying to unhook my caught skirt from the bureau drawer.

He hated it me calling it a bureau too. If I recall correctly: "DRAWERS damn it!!! DRAWERS[[Odd exhaling noise . . . Chicks."

"No way." He came to help me unhook my skirt. "I plead insanity."

I snorted. "Trust me. That was awarded around the time you started seeing ghosts. "

Pause.

"True, OK." He got the skirt free and dropped his hands to his sides.

This was when I guessed just how frustrated he was at my insistence about visiting Mrs Grey. Any other time he would have pinched my ass, or done something else equally reflective of the amount of time he spent with other testosterone driven males such as himself.

"But—" he continued, absently scratching his jaw. "Just explain for me why you want to visit the neighbour you publicly claimed was of unreliable mental lucidity?"

I blinked.

Whoa. Who was I talking to here, Senior or Junior?

"Umm … I dunno." True to form, my rejoinder was of indisputable logic.

Nick was cynical. "You just have these sudden masochistic urges?"

"Uh … Yes." I gave a little don't-shoot-the-messenger-even-though-I-am-not-the-messenger shrug.

This was proving to be WAY more hassle than I had foreseen. I would have liked to go by myself, but my on-loan car was at home and I knew I had just about as good a chance of borrowing one of the Slaters car's as I—well, anyone really—had of finding a romance novel with a good plot … or any plot at all, actually.

Anyway. Upshot: I needed a chauffeur. A role that tradition decree's must fall upon the boyfriend.

AS for WHY I just HAD to go and see Mrs Grey? As Nick pointed out, it was a possibly masochistic decision.

Well, Casper's-not-so-friendly-alter-ego (Answers to Stacy,) had dropped by and 'casually' suggested it. And, well, she's a ghost. She KNOWS things.

I was fully up for it. A little confrontational road trip, what's not to like?

Nick however, wasn't so keen …

"The Mercedes." He nevertheless assented. "Ten minutes."

"Tha-anks!!!" I trilled and gave him a quick peck before rushing off to make the most of my ten minutes.

It wasn't often I was able to coercer Nick!

To be completely honest … It was alarming little things like this that made me worry about how Nick really felt about me . . .

I was actually a quarter thrilled and three quarters terrified to find out that I was Nick Slater's weak spot.

It was DEFINITELY discerning to know that I was the hairdryer to Nick's Frosty Boy ice cream.

Not that I'd hesitate to press my newfound advantage. That would just completely go against my every principle!

I met him, 10 minutes later, at the Mercedes-Benz as specified and I knew my chances of getting to drive—soft spot or no soft spot!—were like … Well. Put it this way:

I'd be planning on that when McDonalds start selling Crème Brulee.

'Why you even want to …" Nick was struggling for words as he slid into the car and keyed the ignition. " … I don't … What is WRONG with you?"

"You mean aside from the obvious?" I fastened my seatbelt. "How many people see ghosts, Nick? Huh? That can screw a person up, you know."

"Oh," he said significantly. " I know."

"Shut up." I was smiling though. Nick just shook his head again as he pulled the car out of the driveway and got us on the road.

My smile fell off my face as I eyed him (not at all discreetly, either.) as he drove. All misgivings I'd ever had all flew to the surface as my high spirits ebbed away. He was just so . . . So . . . HIM.

The light that was reflected off the Carmel sea shone brightly in his face, I could see, (Thank god his sunglasses hid his eye's . . . His eye's always stripped me—figuratively or otherwise—and it was nearly impossible to lie to oneself when faced with his stare.) his tanned, contoured face and the confidence that was etched there. Add to the picture the clothes that simply screamed wealth and the Mercedes' . . . Definitely a bloke for the world's most eligible bachelor top three.

I mentioned as much to him.

"Sweetheart" his voice was patronising, "I'm attached, remember? To you."

I disregarded this. By the time he had sufficient income to make THE LIST, (Or his dad croaked and he inherited—Fucking heirs. Have it SO easy— BY THE WAY. Paris is going to JAIL, Paris is going to JAIL, nah nah nah nah nah nah!!!) We wouldn't be together. Obviously.

. . . Obviously.

"Whatever." I shrugged off what he had said and tried to turn myself back to the safer mental topic of THINGSTHATAREWRONGWITHME, but just like a fat kid with a swing, I kept playing with it, just to see if it would break. "Hey," I said, "Nick, how would you feel about being a Mr Romance contestant?'

"What, and get laid by all the hot groupie's? Yes please."

I gave a small giggle. Perhaps now would not be the best time to tell him that the only Mr Romance fans that would screw him would be the other contestants.

"What about the Bachelor," I needled, immune to the beautiful blue ocean sliding past the car window.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing." Nick said cryptically.

And JUST LIKE the fat kid and the swing, I kept going, in the hope that deliberately breaking it would somehow lessen the pain. "You know those women on The Bachelor are pretty hot, you'd definitely have fun—"

Silly me . . . a skinned knee will still bleed.

"Melinda." Nick intercepted, taking a hand off the wheel to place it carefully over my own, which was lying on my knee. "Can you hear how silly you sound—?"

He's asked me this once before, I recalled, then I thought he was nuts. Now … I wasn't so sure.

"—I'm not," he continued, "Going to ditch you."

"Hey now," I said quickly, "Remember how pissy you were that I wanted to see Mrs Grey? Yeah, go back to that."

"Yes, well, I am still pissed about that." He admitted, all grudgingly.

I shut up and decided to see if staring blankly out the window would be more fruitful.

Maybe he was right; maybe I was subconsciously trying to sabotage—

I don't know.

All I'd wanted was a few days, a few days where I didn't have to think about the real world, when I could ignore it for a little while . . . before I went off and attempted to exorcise a mad shifter's ghost.

Seemed fair, you know??

Now, it seems my holiday is as good as over. It was time to go and consort with dead people. And their associates. Which meant I could pretty much kiss goodbye—

I didn't WANT anyone when I started tis. It had to be JUST me. In any fight, it had to be just ME, that way I had no responsibility and no guilt.

Keith was trying to hit everyone around me. So I had to get rid of everyone around me first.

Made perfect sense in MY head, it's not my fault that other people were too emotionally involved to see the brilliance.

But first—my head was suddenly clear as Nick pulled the car into the driveway adjacent to mine—I had to sort Mrs Grey out.

I climbed out of the vehicle and noticed that you could see my balcony from here. The one that Keith threw mum off.

This strengthened my resolve.

"Come on." Nick walked around to me and took my hand; I noticed indifferently, "Whatever it is you think you're doing, lets do it."

I quickly got out of sight from my house and we walked up to Mrs Grey's doorway and waited as I rang the bell and then waited some more.

Maybe old people should put their rocking chairs next to the door, eh? Save some time.

Abruptly, the door flew open and I had hastily stepped back.

Jesus Christ, new walking stick?

"Melinda, dear, come in!"

Whoa. What?

" … Sure, Ok, I'll go with it." Nick muttered, confusion apparent in voice. He must have been as taken aback as I was.

"Oh Melinda, dear, I was just so worried." She showed us into her living room and I smiled slightly, as I remembered she had always called me "Melinda, dear," like it was my name.

. . . Perhaps it was a little cruel of me to be wandering around calling her insane, but self preservations has, and will always be, the strongest of all human instincts.

"Tea?" she asked. "Milo? Ovaltine?"

ICK! Ovalitine. I don't know which I hate more, Ovaltine or Crochet.

"And—" She was still smiling serenely, like it wasn't IMPORTANT I'd told the police she was insane. "What for your young man, Melinda, dear?"

Was I supposed to answer that or was Nick?

However, Nick solved this dilemma for me by saying, "Milo, please." He winked at me. "I just LOVE a good Milo."

Oh, WhatEVER. Strictly a hard spirits child was Nick. A small part of me found it hilarious that Carmel's notorious party boy was having Milo with a senior citizen.

"Could I help you?" Nick offered.

"No, no dears, it's all under control!"

Pfft. I could have told him that Mrs Grey would be one of those women who took offence if you offered to help in the kitchen. Like Stacy's mum. DEFINITELY like Stacy's mum. They seem to think you are implying they aren't competent to do it themselves if you offer help.

"But, you can tell me what your name is, young man. You never did say."

"Nick." He said, getting up and taking the tray with the three cups off her. "Nick Slater."

"Oh!" She exclaimed, not sounding at all distressed like most (normal) elderly people are when they discover they're talking to a Slater. "Then you must be the son of that lovely young lawyer who got my 'premature testimony disregarded on the grounds of dubious mental capacity'."

I blinked.

"His words. Not mine."

"Yeah, that sounds like the one." I accepted my Milo "—Thanks— except I'm the one calling you a fruit loop."

. . . Perhaps I could have worded that a bit differently . . .

"Oh, don't worry dear.' Mrs Grey leaned over and patted my hand with her own veiny, knotted one. "I know why. Your poor friend . . . I am so sorry."

"Your DAMN father!" I exploded, turning to Nick, "How COULD he—"

"Actually," Mrs Grey interrupted gently, "Your father told me this."

"Your damn father!" Nick ribbed gently.

OK, I suppose that was deserved. I sulked and took a sip of Milo.

"Well, to be perfectly frank, Melinda, dear, I can't believe you killed Alanna. Why, you would have no more killed her than shot Bambi!"

How--? What--? Why--? WAIT.

"That's true," I mumbled, nodding. "I DO LIKE Bambi."

"And I'm so, so sorry Melinda." Mrs Grey continued. "Alanna was a lovely girl . . ."

"How do you even know?" I snapped. How did ANYONE KNOW??? Alanna was killed for being NICE!!!! Killed for being my NICE friend.

Mrs Grey smiled slightly. "She was at your place once, waiting for you . . .? Something like that." She shook her head to clear the details. "I was struggling to get my washing on the line, she saw and came over to help. I'm old, dear . . . lovely young girls like Alanna will always help old women like me . . . there's just not enough of them."

Well there's one less now!

I felt the stinging of my eyelids, which meant tears weren't far away. I blinked, furiously.

I couldn't shake Mrs Grey's sympathetic gaze. "And your mum had nothing but good to say about him, too."

"Daniel." Nick supplied. "Yeah, he was a good guy."

Yes he was . . . yes she was . . . two good people whose murderer's motive could be traced straight back to me.

The guilt hit me once more, and it was like I'd swallowed an apple whole, my chest was constricted, I couldn't draw air . . . I avoided both pairs of eyes looking at me sympathetically and stared down into my Milo.

Why were they looking at me so sympathetically? They should be blaming me.

"Melinda, dear, I'll just say it, shall I?"

Yeah. That'd be nice.

Preferably BEFORE I run out of Milo.

"Who do you know that owns a red convertible? A mustang, I think."

Um. No one in his or her right mind. Mustangs are SO 80's midlife crisis.

"No one . . ."

"Ah. Oh, I see then."

"Why?" Nick said sharply.

Mrs Grey Hedged. "Oh, it all seems so silly now! I'm quite sure it's nothing. And now I've wasted you afternoon, oh dear!"

"Mrs grey. Please. What was it?"

"Well, before I heard the shot," Mrs Grey leaned forward secretively, "I saw a red convertible drive past three times in the space of ten minutes. All very suspicious to an old lady like me, Melinda, dear, you understand."

"Sure." I mumbled.

"Well, this car would slow down each time it passed you house, Melinda, dear. It was almost as though it was waiting for something. . ."

"Did you tell the Police this." Nick said flatly.

"No, dear, no no. I thought it might mean something more to Melinda."

I shook my head, perturbed.

"Why would you assume that there's anything about this business Melinda would not like the Police to know about?"

"Her presence at the house, perhaps?" Mrs Grey said, too slyly for the old woman she claimed to be.

Nick's eyes hardened. "The police are convinced of Melinda de Silva's whereabouts from five to nine that afternoon. They've also, I believe, stricken your evidence from the file. And the police are not in the habit of re-establishing evidence without substantial reason."

"Police don't like negative publicity, either. What would you say to me going public?"

"I'd say it's still your word against ours. Your still the elderly nosy neighbour and Melinda's still the photogenic squeaky clean school girl."

"But I'm just the harmless concerned widow, who knits and tells stories to children"

"That's one 60+ stereotype, yes." Nick smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "But what about the bitter spinster, living alone, making other people miserable, handing out poisoned apples—"

I looked, with wide eyes, at my milo.

"—to school kids and inviting children into her house made of candy so she can cook them in her oven."

WHOA. SOMEONE'S HAD SOME BAD GRANNY EXPERIENCES, EH, NICK??????

"You have covered yourselves, I admit." Mrs Grey admitted with a nod. "But what about your visit now?"

"Prove it ever took place." Nick said smugly.

Holy CRAP. WHAT A CAT FIGHT.

"Oh very good, very good!!!" Mrs Grey burst out laughing. "You are your fathers son!!"

Oh, Don't remind me.

Nick's expression didn't change.

"Oh, my dear young man, don't be angry with me, I was only tricking. Just pulling your leg, you see."

Nick didn't look altogether that reassured.

"Oh, my dear boy. My late husband was a barrister. You reminded me a little of him, just now."

Nick look alarmed.

I'm sure I did too. Did Mrs Grey have the HOTS FOR NICK???

Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!! Here's a new one for you Nick!!!!!! ANOTHER NOTCH ON YOUR LEGENDARY BELT!! HAHAHAHA!!

"Umm." Nick, said, and I couldn't help but giggle at his obvious discomfort. "That's . . . nice."

"I don't know dears, I just wanted to be sure you knew someone with a red mustang . . . but you don't." She frowned." Oh, well." The frown disappeared. "I'm sure there's an explanation."

I thought about this. "Yeah . . ." I said. "I'm sure that's right." Even though that was the furthest conclusion from my mind.

Nick still looked like he'd been kicked in the balls (No doubt an aftermath from Mrs Grey's little confession).

"Right. Um, we'd better go . . ." I said, standing up and taking min and Nick's mugs out to the kitchen, rinsing it, and sitting it to dry. "Nick. Ready?"

"Too right I am." He mumbled, only loud enough for me to hear.

"Right, Um, thanks Mrs Grey, I'll, uh, see you around."

And I was out of there.

I got in Nick's car, buckled myself in and waited for him to do the same.

"Thing is." Nick said, as he put the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. "Who do we know with a red Mustang? And how significant is this?"

I didn't have an answer for the first one, the second one, however . . ."You have no idea." I said grimly.

X-X-X

And yes, Kell, in case you're wondering, I DO hate myself for this chapter. But it just goes to show how far I'm willing to go to get reviews, doesn't it?

So go on. Review. I'll get Nick to give you a lovely, sexually harassing hug . . .

Nick: DAMNIT, Bitch, always EXPLOITING ME!

Me: Do it. Or I'll turn you gay and make you play Cowboys and Indians with Jesse.

[[Long silence

Nick: . . . You know, Mariah, I'd be GLAD to give a sexually harassing hug to each and everyone of your reviewers!

Me: You heard him. [[To Nick And don't forget the wandering hands. They LOVE the wandering hands.

Love and kisses,

Nick's Waiting for you.